


Suit Shopping

by gabrielstolethetardis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Uncensored, Gen, Suit, Vampires, canonverse, white suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielstolethetardis/pseuds/gabrielstolethetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam and Dean's suits get tarnished during a hunt, they are forced to go suit shopping--much to Dean's horror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> No timeline--just assume post-Season 5, at least.  
> No ships included (I know, I'm surprised as well--usually I'm a hopeless romantic shit)

“Die, you evil bitch,” Dean gasped through grit teeth, pressing down harder on the machete he had pinned against the vampire’s neck. She hissed at him, fangs fully extended and gums peeled back, but the sound cut off with a wet gargle as the knife finally sliced fully through her neck, sending a large gush of blood all over the front of Dean’s suit.

“Fuck,” Dean swore, rubbing at the front of his suit jacket; he only succeeded in spreading the blood further. “Sammy?”

A screech echoed from the other room, cut off just as abruptly as the one Dean had just witnessed. “In here!” Sam called, and Dean stood, wiping his machete off on his suit pants—hell, it could only get worse from here—and following Sam’s voice into the kitchen.

“Dude, gross,” Dean said, wrinkling his nose at his brother. “What did you do, chop her head off in a fan?”

Sam gave Dean an impatient bitch face, sliding a hand down his face in an effort to alleviate some of the blood running in rivulets from his hairline down. “Look who’s talking.”

Dean glanced down at himself again before glaring at Sam. “Shut up.”

When they got back to the motel, they both changed quickly into something less… gory and piled their suits in the bathtub. Dean was the one to burn them, soaking them with lighter fluid and dropping a flaming matchbook into the tub with a half-assed, “Hasta la vista.” He stood there for a moment, watching the flames lick lazily up the tile walls and consume the black-and-white—and now vibrant red—fabric below; then, he turned his back and shut the bathroom door, praying to any all-powerful deity listening that the smoke alarm wouldn’t go off.

“We’ve got another case, Dean,” Sam announced, turning his laptop towards Dean. “Three murders in Palo Alto, West Virginia—all animal attacks with their hearts missing.”

Dean groaned, flopping down on his bed; the springs squeaked in protest. “We just got done with a case, Sam. Can’t we take a little R&R, maybe a week somewhere warm? I’m thinking Fiji, or maybe Bali—“

Suddenly, alarms began to screech, and Dean’s sentence cut off with a loud curse. “Grab the stuff—fuck! I knew we should’ve burned them back at that house. Forget the suits, Sam—go, go, out the window, now!”

Dean shoved his guns and clothes into his duffle haphazardly, shoving the bag out behind Sam; then, palming the Impala’s keys from the top of the nightstand, he swung himself out behind his brother, slamming the window closed behind him and tearing out of the parking lot.

When Dean’s heart stopped thumping in his ears, he registered laughter—breathy, choked laughter—from the seat next to him. He turned to squint at Sam, his jaw hardening. “What’s so damn funny?”

“Nothing,” Sam gasped, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head in disbelief. “Just- you should’ve seen your face!”

“Shut up,” Dean growled, facing the road again with a tight expression.

Sam only laughed harder.

* * *

 

The shop’s bell jingled as Sam and Dean stepped inside, knocking against the glass door. Dean took a quick glance around as the door swung shut behind them; then, satisfied—or least as satisfied as he could be, buying what they were—he headed straight to the back of the store where the cheapest suits could be found.

The shop clerk sent Dean a suspicious glance as Dean thumbed through the price tags, wrinkling his nose at each one before moving on to the next. “You boys looking for anything in particular?” he asked, moving a few steps closer to them and hanging one of the suits he held on a nearby rack.

“Just browsing,” Sam said, nodding once at the man. “Thanks.”

The clerk nodded and turned away, but not before affixing Dean with another distrusting stare; Dean sighed and shook his head, sending Sam a can-you-believe-this-shit look. Sam returned the glance with a shrug and a slight headshake, turning and heading towards the clearance section; after a pause, Dean followed him, blowing out a frustrated huff of air. Honestly, what was _wrong_ with people?

Dean was arm-deep in a rack of semi-affordable black suits when Sam called out to him, waving him over from a couple racks down. As Dean approached, Sam reached down and pulled a suit off the rack, holding it up for Dean to see. “How about this one?” he suggested, presenting the price tag to Dean. “I know it’s not our normal get-up, but…” He turned it around in his hands, nodding in approval. “I kinda like it.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and glared at Sam. “No.”

“What? Why not?” Sam followed Dean as he stalked back to the rack he’d been inspecting, the suit still clasped in his hands. “Is it the price? It’s the cheapest one I’ve seen so far—“

“I said no,” Dean bit out, grabbing two black suits from the rack in front of him and presenting them, one in each hand, to Sam matter-of-factly. “Put it back.”

“But—“

“Trust me, Sam,” Dean said, shaking his head and raising his eyebrows slightly. “It’ll wash you right out. Besides, in our line of work, these—“ He gestured to the suits he held, “—these will work much better.”

Sam glanced longingly at the suit in his hand before nodding reluctantly. “Yeah, you’re right,” he conceded, his face falling.

With an impatient huff of air, Dean turned and stalked to the counter, slapping the suits and his credit card down in front of the clerk all at once. “Just these, thanks,” he said, cracking the clerk a forced smile; with a smile just as phony, the clerk began to ring up his purchase.

Sam stood in front of the suit rack, regarding the suit still clasped in his fist for a moment before sighing and hanging it on the end. He caught one last flash of pure white out of the corner of his eye as he turned and followed his brother out of the suit shop, the bell clanging noisily behind them.


End file.
